Play With Me
by TeahWeah
Summary: From the perspective of Angelina Johnson. How she handles the jargons of Fred Weasley.


_This story is slightly different than my other work; it's shorter and I have somewhat matured. The writing isn't good but I'm writing this as a spur of the momentkind of thing. Plus, I wrote this in the midst of my college exam._

_So, be kind._

_Disclaimer: I don't know how to patent things, and I never patented anything in my life. The plot is mine, but the characters isn't. Or else you would be reading a different side of Harry Potter books by now._

* * *

Those locks of red hair. Probably just a lock of strings attached to a head for most people, but to me... they're so appealing. Sexy, even. Not that anyone around me knows about what I feel towards those hair or the person who owns them. Nonetheless, I have kept this to myself for a long time. I know that Fred somehow likes me in some way, but it's just that I don't know if the feeling he has towards me is like... _that_. Probably just a normal boy-girl like, or lust, or a friendly flirtatious like. Sometimes, I wonder what he really thinks whenever his legs brush against mine whenever I teach him Divinition, or if he feels excited whenever he crash into me during Quidditch practices. (I noticed that he's been crashing against me more than usual this past few months.)

A lot of times, I just want to kiss him. That's all. I love him so much, I'm losing my sanity.

We flirt. Oh yes, we do. Fred's always passionate whenever it comes to flirting me. Merlin knows why. This usually happens when we're alone. The scene goes like this: in the common room and I'm usually studying. George goes up the boys dorm and leaves Fred behind with me. Fred stares at me for more than 5 minutes knowing that I am aware of his eyes looking at the space I occupy. He'll approach me when I start to shuffle my work (because he knows I'm feeling uncomfortable) and then he'd come up to me, _pretending_ to help with my things. As I'm done packing up, he'd whisper to me, "You look sexy tonight" or "Your ass looks perfect in those jeans" and to make it worse: he breathes down my neck to gives me shivers of lust.

And then I'd have trouble sleeping because his words are echoing in my head. And the next day, I would be drooping during breakfast (lack of sleep; THANKS FRED!) and he'd sit next to me pretending as if nothing happened. His legs brushing against mine and his hand on his lap nearly touching my thigh.

Other times, when he's feeling very over the top, he'd grab my ass in the corridors. I wouldn't say I like him doing this _especially_ since I can't grab _his_ butt cheeks (let's just say there's not enough visible meat to be pinched.) Once, however, after he grabbed a whole load of ass from me, I ran towards him and pulled down his trousers, observed his (very sexy) legs and ran away, leaving him in a pit of embarrassment. I must say, I was rather satisfied with what I did (and saw).

Last night, something different happened. I was busily doing my Herbology homework and I noticed George has left the both of us for I-don't-know-how-long and Fred was staring at me. I scanned around the room and no body was there. I figured I should just stay there since I really need my work done. There was Fred... just staring at me again as if there's something interesting about me. "Fred, why are you staring? I finally blurted out because I couldn't take it anymore, "What's so amusing about me? Stop staring! I'm tired and I need this work done." At this point, I was furious. I don't know why, but I was. I don't want to hear his sarcastic comment about how pretty my pink bra straps looks under my white shirt. (Those bra straps do look pretty)

All he did was gave me a sheepish grin. Like the one he always does whenever he successfully grab my butt cheek in the corridors. I got irritated with that grin of his and nearly threw a tantrum.

"Nothing, Angelina," he said calmly.

"Oh, it better be nothing, Fred," I hissed, "Because I'm getting tired of your remarks about my ass or my breast or any part of my body."

"They're quite nice," he returned.

"You wouldn't know," I retorted, "You never seen me naked."

"I would love to though," the red head said happily.

I was feeling a bit uncomfortable at this point. Fred? Naked? He does have nice abs, I must say. I always pretend to look somewhere else whenever he drops off his shirt when we're changing to our Quidditch attires. Yep, those abs do look good, I admit. Fact is, all those ass groping or the pants pulling has play a catalyst in our sexual life. I know he wants to do me but he just never gets the chance. I don't mean to sound so concieted about knowing that he wants me or anything, but I just know.

I _tried _ignoring what he said and continued doing my work except I was writing gibberish now since I cannot concentrate with his words playing in my head.

"Why do you need to do your work, anyway?" Fred asked, "It's the weekend tomorrow."

"Because," I started, "I have a lot of work to do. And I need to get 'em done."

There was silence between us for a deadly 10 minutes. Fred wasn't staring at me but looking at the fire in front of us. The reflection of the red flame flickering in his blue eyes that resembles his hair. So hot.

Fred then stood up and I was scribbling more hullabaloos. When suddenly I can smell soap nearby. I looked to my left; it was Fred, breathing down my neck again. I had shivers again and my legs went jelly like. "Angel," he said slowly in a husky voice, "Stop doing your work and play with me."

"Sure," I answered quickly, "Chess?"

Okay! I'm absolutely hopeless! I mean, come on! He could've said, "Make out with me" or "satisfy my lust" instead of... PLAY. Play! He used the word play! I'm so oblivious, I could've gone up my dorm and grab my broom and play Quidditch with him! (Not that anyone would use 'satisfy my lust' as a clue of making out).

"No, you clueless woman!" He replied, losing his husky voice. He stood in front of me and gazed me in the eyes, deliberately telling me to start making a move. Well, since his eyes were doing all the talking, I thought I might as well move my face forward. And I did. And we kissed. Like, serious kissing. Not just a peck that I usually give him on his lips when we leave after a school year (Merlin knows _why_ I kiss him on the lips, it's like a "friend" thing we do). But a kiss... involving _tongue_.

I'm not sure how it happened but the next thing I know, Fred was sitting down on the chair I was on while I was sitting on his lap, my legs dangling down the arm of the chair and my parchment, my quill and my ink were all on the floor. And we were kissing each other wildly. He started to kiss my neck and I returned the favour by sucking his, giving him a mark.

We stopped fifteen minutes later, trying to get some air. "You're good at this," Fred said as he kisses my collarbone again and again and as I run my fingers on his back softly.

"You too," I replied enjoying it.

"Play with me again tomorrow, Angelina," he said slowly as he devour on my neck.

"I need my work done," I responded.

"But ours isn't done yet," Fred whispered slowly, "This game of love just started. You don't know how long I've been wanting to kiss you."

"That's what you think," I replied back.

**FIN**


End file.
